Brazilians don't want the soccer World Cup

The Brazilian people don't want the soccer World Cup in Brazil. It seems.

There are some who are planning on boycotting the World Cup completely. That includes not watching the games on tv. You're reading this right. The great soccer-loving nation of Brazil has people living within it's borders who are not interested in the great festivity and incredible celebration that is the FIFA Soccer World Cup.

They'd rather see their nations money spent on improving education and eradicating poverty. They are close to outrage at the idea of all of this money being wasted on a form of entertainment. The World Cup has exposed these frustrations before, and there were rumours of the similar sentimentality in South Africa in the months leading up to the 2010 World Cup, but I was unaware of any plans to boycott it completely like this. The riots during the Confederation Cup appear to be but a foretaste of the demonstrations of dissatisfaction that the people have towards a mismanagement of priorities in a country world renown for an obsession with soccer.

The blatant investment of precious wealth into an array of stadiums, advertisement and upgrades to already-adequate-in-comparison structures looks like it's a step too far on the tolerance scale of Brazilians when they know how many of their people are struggling to put food on patched-up tables. A demand for justice is rising from the bottom. The culture found amongst the majority, amongst the poor and struggling, may provide some insight into why a higher standard of justice is demanded.

I arrived from South Africa last week, and am in the process of moving into Heliopolis, a famous favela in the impressive city of São Paulo. Within hours of being shown my apartment, I began worrying about how I would afford any of my furniture or appliances. But the family that brought me in, themselves struggling with jobs and money, donated a beautiful cupboard, an adequate fridge, a mattress and a stove to me. They were more than gracious with all that they had. My girlfriend had a similar experience when she was travelling through the slum to visit some of the poorer families of the children that she had encountered. They were amazed at the fact that she didn't own a tv, and while she was going from house to house through the dire situations of these families in the favela she was offered a television by almost each household she came across.

Is this mentality of sharing so that all are taken care of restricted to those who have little to share? Is the lack of this community from the able government the distrubing factor? The rich feel cordoned off with their bounty in impressive estates, the poor out of sight and out of mind. Estates that are hiding them in plain sight. Amongst all of this is the dependable rise in commodities such as public transport or basic foods. Is it then a stretch for the imagination to expect the vast majority of the nation to protest for the money that they are hoping will rescue them from desperation be used to better their situation as opposed to facilitating a celebration that is clearly far beyond their reach?

Very far beyond their reach. The method for purchasing tickets appears to accomodate only the rich, according to the locals here in Brazil. They understand that if they apply for a ticket, they can't even choose what game they're going to watch. Which means that they may end up with a ticket for a game on the other side of the country. A game that they'll need a plane ticket to go and watch, instead of one at the stadium that may be within a short walk from their home.

Justice and community may appear to be substituted for entertainment and profit.

I am challenged personally to be as demanding of justice in my own life. To abandon and cast off that which seeks to feed my own selfishness at the cost of others. Can I, too, become dissatisfied at my own indulgence, and hungrier for community justice to be an effect of my life?

 

If You Want It

There's an amazing line at the end of Relient K's album, Forget and Not Slow Down, which goes, "I've been convincing myself that I'm worthwhile, cause I'm worth what I'll convince myself to be..."

I remember when I was an 8 or 9 year old boy walking through the shops with my mom. I was definitely a 'special' child, mostly living in my own world. Very often, when we walked through shopping centers, I would be seeing a cricket stadium, and this walk I was doing was simply my run up to the stumps with ball in hand ready to bowl. All of a sudden, this one afternoon, an older man broke through my imagination, and with his hands on both my shoulders, I think he said to me (I'm not entirely sure of the wording as I was still trying to re-orientate myself after my stadium had so suddenly been transformed back into reality): "God is going to use you for amazing things, son!" That little encounter really affected me. I had heard it a lot from my parents, but now that a complete stranger had said it, suddenly I could really believe it. I was going to be used by God. Now all the pressure was off. I didn't have to prove to others that God was using me, because, apparently, they already knew. I just had to let God do his thing. Phew. Time to aim high.

Two weeks ago, we took two boys to go collect glasses that they needed after an optometrist had offered to donate their services to our boys. We came home with two excited kids with new glasses and a lot of attention. Attention that one of the other boys was craving. So when it came to his turn for an eye examination, as the doctor put it; "He almost deceived me, but his eyes are fine. He doesn't need glasses." Our little boy had tried to pretend he couldn't see anything in an attempt to get that attention. He was willing to fake de habilitation in substitution for attention. The doctor told him that his eyes may hurt for an hour or so because of the tests. This small little insignificant statement led to a melodramatic 18-hour insistence of near-blindness. He was calling anyone near by to come help him read anything and everything in front of him because he seemed to have managed to convince himself that his eyes were too weak to be used for near-on anything!

He chose to believe the voice in his head telling him what to do to get attention. I was amazed at his commitment, and apparent stern belief that in the course of one day he had gone from reading the tiny letters on the pages of the bible, to not even being able to read a stop-sign from up close.

I guess life really does change depending on the voices we choose to believe.

 

Hypochondriac

I can remember so vividly, walking down the streets with four other missionaries and a tackle box with medicinal supply. The vast majority of the severe wounds treated were simply addressed with standard cream, yet were received with the belief that all problems were now in the past. These open scars, battered bodies and warped bones were in dire need of serious medical attention and all they joyously received was an application of a generic medicine. And we were so happy to apply it, because these precious souls left to waste away on the street have overcome some unspoken barrier to even allow us into their lives for a few minutes. Many seem to hide their external hurts along with those fatal internal ones.

Back in the Rescue Home, the use of "chave 29" to open this cupboard door is like the moment jolly old saint Nicklaus opens his red bag; only this is the pharmaceutics cabinet. As soon as I open this door, a stream of injuries are suddenly brought to everyone's consciousness, and attention is demanded by ex-street boys protesting the severity of their ailments. Many of these injuries are minor cuts and bruises they received on the playground weeks ago, but now that the magic cupboard has been opened, revealing its seemingly endless supply of magical bandages and miraculous creams and sprays, the boys line up, most likely with the youngest first to reach us, asking to be attended to by doctor 'cupboard-opener'. These boys have encountered a form of love and affection and are ready to milk it for all that they can.

However, I can't help but wonder if it's gone too far, and this unnecessary application of medicine inhibits a healthy self-image for them. Do they see themselves as broken people inside, too? Does this explain many of our issues with the boys? Is this external anxiety mirrored internally? Even though we are helping them grow in every way we are aware of and that love and discipline allows for, do they still look at healed wounds inside their mauled hearts and demand scars? Are these wonderfully loved boys rejecting love because their broken and damaged self-image of wounded needs to be retained to maintain any familiar feeling or understanding to their lives?

As always, this makes me think about how I have fallen prey to this apparent human behaviour. Do I see myself as a broken person in areas that I am healed? I have read verse after verse after verse of how God defines me, and have often, repeatedly, struggled to believe it. I have even flat out rejected it as idealistic, and impossible. I can not be holy and blameless, no matter how many times I recite Colossians 1:22. It's an antonym of my very obvious sinful nature! I am weak, prone to failure, falling very short of the mark repeatedly. Abandoning God's love, embracing my humanity. My laziness propels me to new depths; deserved depths. Depths that missionaries, or pastors, or christians, or any normal person should ever venture. Who would dare venture anywhere near me, let alone consider a fragile, incapable, and obviously stubborn soul like me to be of any value? A soft voice whispers some necessary words:

If I ascend to heaven, you are there! If I make my bed in Sheol, you are there! - Psalm 139:8

God created man in his own image...and saw everything that he had made, and behold, it was very good. - Genesis 1:27, 31

Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation. The old has passed away; behold, the new has come. - 1 Corinthians 5:17

But you are a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people for his own possession, that you may proclaim the excellencies of him who called you out of darkness into his marvelous light. - 1 Peter 2:9

...be transformed by the renewal of your mind... - Romans 12:2

I take the bandages and redundantly apply them to the boys' sores, knowing that this will tip the scales and cause them to win this psychological fight... for today. But I also know we will be here the next time.

 

Justice

I've watched as the police herd over 100 homeless druggies like cattle into streets more concealed so that their unsightly behaviour doesn't inconvenience the wealthy and sober. The ministers of justice doing their civic duty by hiding those who have been treated the most unjustly so that the unaffected may carry on in their ignorance of a world in dire need of action.

Something I've been thinking a lot about lately is justic; It's place and importance in our lives. I'm sure justice is amongst your highest priorities, whether you actively pursue it or not. It's the reason that you get angry in the traffic, the reason you vote, or read the news or even include yourself in discussions about the poor. These sorts of emotional reactions throw us into one of two categories for each experience. Either we're a part of the offended category who respond to the advancement of others with a bewildered, "why??", or we're a part of the favoured, in which case we feel the unnatural touch of our humility as we argue about the necessary equalization of the scales for those who don't know the joys that we do.

We look up to people who we believe are the best at instilling justice in our perspectives. They know when to defend us, or when to reproach us, giving our consciences that peace that we're not being taken advantage of.

Why is this on my mind? I went for a walk through "Crack-land" this week, and unfortunately got to see street after street just lined with people who are sitting on the sidewalk, puffing on their crack pipes, sleeping or having conversations with an imaginary person. It's a sight to make anyone cringe, while the city continues to buzz with ambition and productivity (I was not permitted to take pictures, because it induces a violent reaction from the areas inhabitants). I was walking through these streets with a team of 5 people who were just addressing the cuts and scratches of anyone who was sober enough to realize they could get help.

My thought the whole time was, "what if this was me? What would I do?" But for it to be me, I can't just place myself into their situation with my background. I need to inherit their background. I need to relive their sources of pain from which they all began looking for an escape. That is almost impossible to do, because each person would have a story that is worth a National Geographic special on. I saw one boy who was being arrested by the cops. I don't know why they were arresting him, but I had heard the story of how he came to be on the streets. I must warn you, this isn't charming:

He lived with his mom, sister and step-dad. In a world of poverty, he didn't have many people to rely on, but his step-dad was his role model. He loved him, and wanted to be like him one day. Other people may not have been trust-worthy in this survival race, but to him, this guy was. Then one day, he came home to find out that his dad had raped his sister and stabbed his mom. Needless to say, his world was crushed. The only person that he had ever looked to that could pursue justice in this world was now the very person to cause the biggest injustice he had experienced. What would that do to any person?

He lived on the streets in determined rebellion of any guidance an adult would try give him. He simply was not interested. How would I react to that situation? Would I also not end up on the street trying to escape reality? Trying to get away from a world so disgusting?

So why does God let this kind of thing happen? Why is there so much injustice, if He's a good God? If He really loves 'the world' so much that He sent His only Son, surely He wouldn't allow this to happen! However, that's taking a very narrow perspective on life. If God didn't allow the consequences of humanity's despicable actions to take their terrible course, then there would be no motive or change to pursue justice as a community. We're sadly living in a world that believes less and less in community and more in the individual. As a result we're losing this larger picture perspective, as well as our effectiveness to pursue justice, but that doesn't mean that we can offload the blame onto a loving God, because I can promise you one thing:

No matter what street you try hide your inconveniences in, God is there in full view of them. He sees them even when you choose not to, and His heart hurts because of this. He has chosen us to be His only plan, His only response, His hands and feet, and we've chosen to hide ourselves from it and blame HIm. I believe in the potential of this world, though, that we can all actively engage in justice, and by the power of God, become the change on earth that we've been praying for! Do you?

 

Uncapping Our Capabilities

A couple of days ago at the rescue house I was sitting at the breakfast table with two female volunteers and four of the boys. A couple of the boys had coughs or sore throats, and were asking for a little medicinal assistance. Suspiciously enough from a high-sugar syrup. The first boy took the bottle and tried to twist off the cap, and failed. One of the other volunteers took it and tried, and also failed. The second volunteer then said, "Let's just give it to Gavin to open it now," and that familiar feeling of pressure hit me. Two of the boys took this as a challenge and jumped up to try before me. After many failed attempts, they conceded defeat and handed me the bottle. I took one look at it, and then softly removed the strip of plastic that seals the cap, preventing it from being tampered with, and then easily unscrewed the lid in the face of slightly embarrassed laughs.

It made me think of how hard we work at trying to defeat our failures, when often our answer lies in a much simpler task than pure brute force.

In the face of one of the ever-present conflicts at the house, a particularly anger-prone boy was in the middle of a fight with his brother, and his face was covered with the familiar uncontrolled rage that indicated restraint was most likely imminent. I jumped in between the two boys and faced the anger-prone one. I shouted in a controlled manner, "You don't want to do this!!" At this point he took of one of his slops and threw it at his brother. "Listen to me! You don't want to do this! Think! Just let it go!! Let it go, and leave it alone!" He still hadn't take his eyes off of his brother, and his breathing got a lot heavier at this point. I still hadn't even touched him other than his shoulders to try get him to look at me.

I reached out and pulled a chair closer to us, and leaning down to his level I shouted again, "Just let it go, and sit down here with me!" And to my absolute amazement, he did. He looked away from his brother and slowly sat down on the chair in front of me, and turned to the side. "Awesome. That's all you need to do. You're doing awesome, just let it go." His face looked like it was still full of anger, but it seemed that he had chosen to give up the need to try and wrestle his dominance here. I was so very cautiously excited! I asked, "Are you okay, now? Can I leave you?" He nodded! So I got up and took the other brother away to brush his teeth. When I returned, my heart stopped when I saw the chair was now empty. I almost turned and ran back to the bathroom, when I looked inside and saw that he was now doing his chore, wiping clean the dining table!

Unbelievable!

All it took was realizing that he didn't have to do anything!

I have many ... many ... many (I don't know if I have enough 'many's memorized) personal troubles that I struggle with. I know I believe in God, and I know that the bible says that in Christ we have freedom from sin, I just have struggled and wrestled and put all of my strength in fighting this rebellion, very dismally. It breaks my heart every single time I let God down. I even question my claim to Christianity. But I read recently an explanation of Philippians 2.13, "It is God who works in you, both to will and to do for his good pleasure." I knew that God had changed my will, that's why I would always get so heart-broken. I just had never let God fight for me instead. I had never sat down with Him, and let Him deal with my sin. I had always tried to do it myself. A mind-blowing concept. It is God's job to fight for me! He just can't fight when I'm always getting in His way, and trying to fight in His place.

It is exactly as if the sealant on Christ's freedom had been removed. I'm not sure how much my little boy at the house has realized the truth in this lesson we experienced, and I am sure that I will let God down again, I just know that the cap on our potential through God is a lot easier to remove now that the sealant has gone.

 

My First Shock When Working With Street Kids

All these homeless kids living on the street don't want to be 'rescued'.
This is the first realization that I had after I arrived in São Paulo after leaving my job and country to help kids that I was sure were desperately wanting people to come and give them a chance at escaping their situations. But the truth is that they don't want to be off the streets. All these 7, 8 ,9-year-olds are quite satisfied with the life they've grown accustomed to, irrespective of the fact that it ends 50 years shorter than the average life. They may never have an education, a family, a happy home, professional respect or a 21st birthday, but the appeal of this life on the street over shadows any pursuit that we would deem valuable or important in this life.
Why? What is keeping them so shut off from the truth that they are not better off on the streets?

I volunteer at a rescue house for street kids. We have 7 kids in the house at the moment, even though there are hundreds on the street in the city. Even more, now, because of the new year. We just received a new boy, who we'll call "M", who had run away from an abusive home situation and was desperate to stay as far away from home as possible. This makes our work a lot harder, because we have to find his family without his help, now, and try work with their indifferences while housing him and reassuring him we're on his side. M is very quiet, and avoids any physical contact with anybody. He seems to have started trusting me, because I don't try get too close to him.

So I asked him, "do you like it here?"

"I like some of it."
"What don't you like?"
"They make us eat tomatoes."
He then runs away from me. Just this conversation was too much too soon. But it showed a small insight into why a rescue house is less attractive than the street. On the street, nobody makes you do anything. You can do whatever you want.

With the benefit of having a healthy upbringing, as most of us have had (and lets be honest, your family may have had issues, but if you're sitting here reading this, you're educated, with access to technology, thus money, education and opportunities. You've had a comparatively healthy upbringing) we know that a certain amount of rules is good. It teaches discipline, respect, self control and shows maturity. But that's the long term effects, and the alternative option these street kids have is immediate freedom from rules. Even if it means sleeping with dog blankets under a bridge on rainy nights. How can they not see that this is not a good long-term plan? What may feel like freedom right now is actually the very chains that are going to end their life short. This freedom will prevent any chance of a healthy life.

Who are we to judge? The mere mention of the name, "Jesus", puts many of us on immediate defense. Yet God created us and loves us and simply wants the best long term plan for us, right? But we know that if we truly turn to God, He's going to ask us to do things that go against what we want right now. He's going to ask us to leave this immediate freedom we feel, and do things that require self-control, discipline, respect.

If you haven't reached the conclusion of this point already, let me help. Freedom without God is blind-sighted and secretly an inescapable prison of chains. I can personally vouch for that. A life that follows the 'rules' of God is the pursuit of true freedom. Free from addiction, free from pain, depression and death.

I watch M run away, and my heart is filled with joy. He gives us a lot of trouble at the house because of how cut off he is right now, but he's not on the streets anymore. He found one of our volunteers, and begged them to find him a home. They gave him their number and he phoned them every single day until we had sorted out the paperwork to take him in. He's lost the street's independence, highs and freedom, but he's gained a future of hope, potential and freedom.

The Gems of Communication Barriers

My role at the rescue house is to be a mentor to these kids. To teach them, guide them, discipline them, encourage them and answer any questions about life that they may have. Sound familiar? Well, yes, it's the role of a parent, isn't it.

How much of that can be done when the people involved in this parent-child relationship speak different languages? When the child does something wrong, how much can be said with the primary use of hand gestures? When he's feeling down and seems very disappointed with himself, how much can be understood with words unheard of?

I realize that this Portuguese frustration I have is something well documented, but when people are willing to communicate with each other, they find a way. For example, I had a really good 'conversation' with one of the boys while we were playing basketball the other day, and I felt like I was able to play a good role in his life then. He wasn't getting the ball in as often as I was, and he kept putting himself down. He would miss the hoop, and start walking away every time saying, "Não bom, não bom" which I've at least figured out means, "not good, not good." I really don't like seeing a young kid like this, with all the potential in the world, giving up so easily. So I went to him, and managed to communicate something that my dad had always told me growing up.

I told him, you shouldn't ever say that you can't do something. You just need to practice. When I was younger, my dad told me that I could do anything. Anything that I wanted, I just needed to work at it. So you might not be good right now, but with some practice, you can do anything. With everything in life, don't say that you can't. Just say that you need to work at it.

He seemed to really understand the concept. I mean, it wasn't some hollywood moment where he got a grin on his face and started popping the ball in the basket while drinking Pepsi, but he had a stern face and was more willing to pick the ball up when it hadn't gone in.

This was one of my rare moments of successful communication with the boys. So you can understand my frustration when I have to spend the entire weekend with them, and I can't really speak to any of them. I have learnt how to develop our relationship in other ways, but this was exceptionally restricted on Saturday when we were driving out to a water park, roughly two hours away. When you're in the car, and you have to turn around to talk to the boys, there's no easy way of using hand gestures, and no form of affection because of the chairs.

I found the car was very excitable, because we were off on an outing, and there's so much that these guys haven't seen in the world, yet. So there's a lot of conversation going on, and lots of laughs. There's some back seat tussles, and huge stories being told about places that everyone's gone to before, but I can follow none of the details. Only the bigger picture. I try to contribute to the conversation, but inevitably fall short, and I just shake my head, apologizing for my Portuguese. The boys reply saying that I was learning Portuguese much faster than anyone. I was doing really well and my Portuguese was good. I hear this, thinking, "I can't even tell you guys about going to the beach?" So I just brush aside their encouragements and say, "Meu Portuguêse e não bom." At this point, my basketball buddy piped up and said, "Remember what your dad said to you, and you said to me? You mustn't say that it's not good, you just have to work at it."

How's that for a refreshing slap in the face? For almost a second I was embarrassed that I wasn't living according to my own advice, but then I was just filled with pride for this boy.. He had taken hold of that little conversation, and it was a part of him almost a week later!

Of course, that has me a little worried. It seems that I've only applied my dad's advice to sport! And that's 'não bom' at all. There are so many areas where I believe God needs me to overcome, and I've completely had a negative attitude towards them, thinking I'll never be able to do this, or I'll never be able to get past that. The bible, itself, is filled with the same encouragements from God that my dad gave me, telling me that I'm equipped enough, I'm encouraged enough, I'm able enough to do anything and everything that is asked of me by my Maker. I'm so thankful for this kid's refreshing slap in my face, because he is helping me finally eradicate one attitude that doesn't belong in my life!

 

Unconditional Love

At the Rescue House, where we house a few street children, it's Saturday afternoon, and we've sent the two younger boys away on a camp for all of this last week. The house has been a lot easier to live in with only the older boys, to be honest. We've had way less fights than usual, some incredibly constructive conversations as well as spiritually deep devotional times. All these boys have seemed focused, helpful, and excited about everyday. Which has been very interesting. How could two young boys cause so much difficulty with these teenagers? Ah, of course!! It's because those two younger ones are masters at provocation. They taunt and tempt and push everyone's buttons just because they're boys, and thats what young boys do.

I have not been looking forward to today, at all. I know they're supposed to come back in the early afternoon, but we're having some really constructive time with the older ones, still.

In fact, just earlier this morning, while sitting on a trampoline, the other Tia (lady) that was on duty had an hour long conversation with all the boys about the spiritual difficulties they've had in their lives and how that may be affecting them now. Some of them had been offered as sacrifices to spirits by family members, and others have been cursed, and they're still living with some of those after effects in their lives. This kind of conversation needs a stable environment. One free from a short attention span. Free from deliberate irritation. Free from the younger, uninterested input. We still have that environment, now. We can still do more!
Two o'clock came and went, and the other two boys still aren't back. This was supposed to be the part of my day when the difficulties were starting. So we carried on the day. My mind is working back and forth about what could possibly go wrong, and now postponing the waiting time seems even more torturous. These boys could tear this place down in one night, if they wanted to. I remember the last time I was here when all the boys returned from time away from each other. Emotions overflowed into many fisticuffs and cursing. Maybe we should take all these boys away to the lake and wait for the younger ones to settle before bringing them back home. Hopefully they'll be superbly tired when the gate opens and they arrive.
Three o'clock. The gate bell rings. Oh no. This is it. Play time is over, it's time to get the gloves out and be ready for absolutely anything that is about to happen. I go inside and fetch the gate remote. I'm pretty much going through the motions now. This is not the most exciting part of my day at all. I point it to the gate and push the button.
The gate is not even half way opened when I catch sight of one of the boys. He looks up and our eyes lock. He gets half way through shouting my name, slams the car door closed and sprints full speed. He sprints through the gate up the driveway, past his brothers, past the other boys at the house. He's not even smiling. He's got a look of shear determination to diminish the distance between us that has apparently been way too long! From a full two meters away he leaps off the ground and spreads his arms out forcing me to catch him in a tight embrace. He holds onto me, hugging so tightly, but unable to say anything because we don't speak the same language. Verbally. I hold him back and my heart is filled with so much joy! So much peace and happiness. This family is complete, again! We're back together, we have our two missing pieces back! I can't even believe how long this week has suddenly felt, now knowing that I haven't seen them for that long!!

Every fear, every negative thought, every negative anticipation I had: gone!, in a single, glorious moment! Yeah, I'm very sure that we're going to have trouble tonight (in fact, two hours later, the youngest of these two got so angry in being told he had to take a shower, that our dining hall ended up with rice, beans and chicken all over the floor, on the walls, and even on the roof), but that's what we're here for. To learn how to get through life, together!
I have to admit this was an altogether familiar feeling that I experienced. It's often the way I feel before I meet with God. I dread and fear the way my life is going to be ruined when I go to Him. He is going to say things that are not going to sit well with my conscience. He may even start asking me to do things that do not go well with my comfort. I might have to get out of my comfort zones in ways that I was not prepared for. So I try and put off this meeting with God. That doesn't help, though. I start going through that same torture as I wait in anticipation for something that I KNOW is a part of my life: my time with my Maker.
Then when I come to Him...Ah all chains fall off!! What a cliche, but how true! My burden feels lighter, my mountains feel easy to conquer, and my love feels complete! If you've never read Jon Acuff's blog post called Thinking God will run out of welcome home banners, then I honestly suggest you do that! It will be ten minutes that you will want to (and probably will) relive over and over again. It's exactly the same idea, that God is just so in love with us that we almost refuse to believe it.
A challenge? No, there's no challenge in this blog post. Only a point of self-reflection. How are your times with God going? My times have been struggling because of this illogical fear. Maybe it's the same for you, but we all need to accept this unrelenting pursuit of Christ is counter-intuitive to resist.

Shirt Stained With Tears

Here's a personal story that impacted me, recently, though I must just tell you that for the boys' sake, I'm not allowed to put their images on the internet. Hence the blurry photo's:

There's one boy (let's call him R. He's 10), here at the rescue house, who seems a little bit more composed than the rest. He hasn't lost his temper like the others have. He doesn't seem to be so emotional, while still being very affectionate. I've also noticed he's very sensitive to other people's feelings and often reacts appropriately, in the best way he knows how.

On Friday, however, he was in a very irritable mood with his younger brother (9). I had to literally step in between the two of them after they had brushed their teeth, to stop them fighting. This was over an argument that had developed about who should put the cap back on the toothpaste. It is normally the 9 year old, V, that will explode and rage for up to an hour while one of the volunteers have to restrain him from hurting himself or someone else. So after V had walked away, I spoke to R, and told him that he needs to have more patience with V. I told him that he's older, so he can't expect his younger brother to be more mature than him. He still had a really angry look on his face, but he left it, and we spent the rest of the morning playing silly little paper games, while V played games with one of the older brothers.

I told one of the girls, who works at the organization, that morning that for some reason I could feel God's presence with me in a different way that day.

Lunch time came. I have no idea how this even happen, I was a little distracted. But from what I can gather in my very very limited Portuguese is that R knocked his younger brother, V, as he walked behind his chair with his elbow, and V just exploded. He jumped off his chair and the two of them were trying to beat each other up right there next to the lunch table. I launched for V, and pulled him away thinking that him losing his temper would be the bigger threat. I didn't want him to rage for an hour again, so I took him away from the dining room with my hands wrapped around him in a soft, but affirming hug. I just told him to stay calm, and he did! It was a miracle! It's the first time that I haven't seen him lose control of himself, literally. So after not even 5 minutes of waiting for one of the other volunteers and the oldest brother, W (15), to drag the usually calm R out of the house, I let V go sit down. He was very calm.

I sat down with him for a couple of moments just to make sure he wasn't trying to trick me, and then got up and went outside to find R. I am very fond of this boy. I found him being restrained by the other volunteer and we waited for his anger to subside. Once he seemed like he wasn't about to run inside and try fight V again, I asked the volunteer to leave me and the boy out there. The volunteer wasn't on duty, and it was lunch time. He needed to eat. So I sat there with R and spoke to him about his brother. I said that I know V will provoke him all day long, but he needs to stay calm and relaxed, he must just forget about it. He needs to do this often if he wants to be friends with his brother when they're older.

He sat with an unfamiliar angry look on his face while we were talking. I took him by the hands and put him on his feet and told him that he needs to give me a hug before we go back. He very quickly wrapped his arms around me, and I just held him. I told him that I love him so much, and I love his brother, and I really want him to love his brother, too. I then asked if I could pray for him, and he nodded. So I prayed. I started in Portuguese, and then changed to English, because I can't actually speak that language. While I was praying, I could feel the love of God overcome me, and I was filled with emotions for this kid in my arms. I started to cry as I prayed. Afterwards, I knelt down next to him to encourage him, and he saw my tears. He lifted his shirt and wiped them away, with his one arm now around my neck. I asked him if he was ok, and he put on a grin and nodded.

He could see in my eyes how much love I had for him and his brothers.

I stood up again, he jumped on my back and we headed back towards the house!

I want us all to be able to share love with each other. But I've learnt that that love comes from God. It truly does, that's not just a cliched little saying that we use to make each other feel better. When other people are acting in ways that make us angry, or provoke us, we can rely on God to renew us with love if we simply take the time to ask! It's a simple, but important concept! My cry, again, is let's change this world with genuine love for each other. The love that is tough to give!